


Every Parting, Death; Every Reunion, Heaven

by lovesrogue36



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5574715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han and Leia's reunions have always been contentious but this one feels bittersweet in a whole new way. Mild spoilers for TFA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Parting, Death; Every Reunion, Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not associated with Disney or Lucasfilm. 
> 
> Written as a fill for the TFA kinkmeme: "Han/Leia, Reunion sex, Just give me tender, romantic, loving, "you're still an ass, but you're my ass", been apart too long sex."
> 
> My first Star Wars fic in over five years; it feels so weird to be returning home to my first fandom! Glad to be back though and with such fabulous new material to work with. 
> 
> Title inspired by quote: "Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven." - Tryon Edwards

She’s standing at the mirror, but her reflection is the last thing she sees. Her eyes are unfocused, staring off into nothing, and her fingertips are pressed against the desk so hard her knuckles have turned white. Her whole body’s perfectly still except for the heel of her boot tapping incessantly against the concrete floor, a nervous tic that resounds through the little cubicle that is her quarters.

Dark eyes flick up towards movement behind her, turn cloudy at the sight of his reflection. 

Han fiddles with the blaster strapped to his thigh, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking generally uncertain about whether he’s going to be welcome here or not. Welcome in her room, in her space. A welcome interruption in her private thoughts. Or if he’ll just be a nuisance, if they’ll just pick up fighting where they left off the last time he ran for the stars.

They stand there in silence for what should have been an awkward length of time except they’re married, or at least they were, and they’ve been silent together for significantly longer periods than this. Silent in that comfortable way two people have when they simply don’t need to speak to communicate  _ and _ silent in that awful, gut-wrenching way two people have when they have nothing left to say.

“Why are you here?” she asks finally, voice rough with resignation and exhaustion.

He’s immediately defensive, jaw clenching and waving a hand around. “Hey, I brought the droid in, didn’t I? I still care about Luke, you know! He’s my family too and-”

Leia holds up a hand, groaning in protest. “ _ Han.  _ I meant why are you  _ here _ , in my room.” She turns around, eyebrows raised in expectation.

He slumps, visibly, shoving both hands in his pockets. “Oh.” There’s a long beat in which she can hear water dripping in the sink and muffled conversations down the hall. “Cause I miss you.”

It’s her turn to sag in emotional defeat, the fight knocked out of her by civility and honesty. Two things that have too rarely passed between them.

Han shuts the door with his foot, crossing the room in two strides and wrapping her in his arms. She rests her forehead against his chest, mumbling something that might have been “I miss you too.”

When she finally tips her head back to look up at him, there’s hesitance on his face but he ducks his head to kiss her anyway. He never used to be so… afraid. Afraid to crowd her, afraid to get in her way, afraid to make her stop and see him.

He called  _ her _ afraid once but here he is, trembling in her arms like he’s as terrified to hold on as he is to let go. Leia winds her arms around his waist, hands linking loosely behind him, and leans back against the desk. She’d ask what he’s afraid of but she’s all too aware.

This nightmarish war is the fruit of their fucked up love affair.

“No talking, flyboy. When we talk, we fight.”

It should probably make them both sad to say but it’s been true since the day they met. It didn’t make their marriage any less real or the good times any less good. Hell, half the good times had started with a fight.  _...Maybe more like 65% of the good times, _ Leia amended mentally.

Luckily, he can take a hint far more than he could as a young man and he doesn’t question it, just kisses her again, harder and with a little bit of teeth. They’re much too old to do this right here so she nudges him towards the bed with a hand on his chest.

It’s just a twin but they’ve managed in less; the bunks on the Falcon are half this size and Ben was conceived in one of those. She winces to herself, shoving thoughts of their son away. No, she doesn’t want to forget about him but she won’t let him invade every moment of her life either, certainly not a rare tender moment with Han.

He sinks abruptly onto the edge of her bed, hands inching under her vest to tug at her belt. Neither of them are as firm or nimble as they once were but neither of them has stopped running either; figuratively, literally, mentally. Running from each other and the Darkness all at the same time.

Leia lets him unbutton her, shove her sleeves down and unhook all her army-issue underthings. His mouth is sealed against her skin, (collarbone, breastbone, down her belly but never quite where she wants him), and the scrape of his tongue is almost distracting enough to pull her out of her thoughts. She doesn’t bother taking his clothes off, they’ll get there eventually, just tangles her fingers in his hair and yanks his mouth back up to hers. Sucking his bottom lip in between her teeth, she takes her time identifying the sweet sting of booze on his tongue; he probably spent an hour raiding the Falcon stash just to work up the courage to come in here.

Gods, he never used to be the one who was afraid.

They separate only when their lungs are burning, like two teenagers making time at the holotheater. A small snicker escapes her at the thought, the lines on his face and the grey in her hair less real to her than the young lovers they haven’t been in twenty five years.

Han arches an offended eyebrow, but she only waves a hand dismissively, trying in vain to suppress the smirk that lights up her eyes if only for a moment. Pushing him back onto the bed, she sets about stripping off her boots and fatigues, for expediency as much as for the distraction.

When she looks up again, he’s sprawled out on the bed, hands folded behind his head and a shit-eating grin on his face like her body’s still the best thing he’s seen in lightyears.

Leia rolls her eyes, flinging her clothes to the floor with as much grace as she can muster. She never has known how to take a compliment, even an unspoken one, at least not from him. Not from the man who couldn’t be a sycophant if he tried, (not even if he tried to spell it.)

“You’re still beautiful and there’s nothin’ on this planet or the next’s gonna make me think different.” His voice is a soft rumble, slipping into the less-than-refined accent she fell in love with as he pushes himself up on his elbows. “Cm’here.”

She stands in the middle of the room for a petulant moment, hand on her hip, lips pursed. “You never change, do you?”

“If you think I haven’t changed, you aren’t lookin’ hard enough, sweetheart. More’n the jacket’s different.”

A sigh escapes her. She knows he’s different. She knows he’s sad, afraid. He’s afraid for their son but he’s a little afraid  _ of _ him too. He’s scared of the power that sits just beneath her skin, the power she passed on to their little boy.

She steps in between his knees, stroking a fingertip over his cheek. Some of the lines are unfamiliar but the face is somehow just the same. “I know,” Leia whispers.

Han rests his hands on her bare hips as she climbs over him, running a finger under the buttons of his shirt to pop them open. She leaves his shirt and jacket on, just sliding her hands underneath to his warm, bare skin. Leia’s eyes shut of their own accord, the feel of him under her palms as intoxicating as ever. They could do this slow, relearn-each-other’s-bodies thing all day but they don’t really have the time. War waits for no one and all that.

Instead, she unbuckles his belt, relishing the clank of metal and the smirk he couldn’t wipe off if he tried. It used to drive her crazy when he looked at her like that, (first in annoyance, later in arousal); she used to think it meant he wanted her to know exactly what he was thinking, but years into their marriage, she finally figured out he didn’t even know he was smiling. Unnerving to have that kind of power over someone, to make them smile just by  _ existing _ .

Han finally reaches down to lend a hand, shoving his pants down and blindly toeing off his boots. His cock is still just as pretty as it was thirty years ago and Leia draws her fingers over it’s warm, smooth length. He clears his throat, eyes tight and lips pursed and she knows he’s putty. It’s her turn to smirk, leaning over him to rummage around in the drawer for a small bottle of lubricant. 

With her breasts dangling in front of him, Han seizes the opportunity, lips closing around one of her nipples. She groans, fingers clenching on the little bottle in her hand as he fondles pale, naked skin, sucking and nipping. It could be muscle memory or nostalgia but somehow he seems to remember exactly how she likes it.

Spreading a bit of oil on her fingers, Leia reaches down to slick the lubricant between her legs. He’s been patient, up to now, waiting for her to be properly prepared, but Han is apparently tired of waiting because she’s barely finished before he presses the head of his cock against her. Leia bites her lip, hears herself gasp, feels it all from outside herself as he pushes in, anchoring her with those big hands on her hips (not as narrow as they once were, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.) 

She knows he’d like to roll her underneath him, to envelope her body in his, but he hasn’t been able to put his full weight on his left knee since that incident on Dantooine twelve years ago. This is good with her though, Han relatively helpless beneath her and relatively happy to let her set the pace. Leia lets out a deep breath, feels her lungs empty; her eyes drop closed and she steadies herself on him, moving slowly, savoring the fullness of his cock inside her after so long. 

Reaching up with both hands, Leia sets about the rhythmic meditation of unpinning her hair. The braids come down one by one, hairpins forming a small pile on his chest, until it’s all loose around her shoulders. He always liked her hair down, said it reminded him of Endor, and that too seems not to have changed. Han gives her a small smile, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair, long strands clinging to his calloused hands. 

They’re quiet, far quieter than they used to be, but like she said: no talking. Leia slides her fingers between his with her right hand, doesn’t even have to ask before his free hand is between them, grinding and rubbing, keeping her from retreating alone into her head. It’s quiet but they’re both so very present, so caught in the other’s orbit, there’s not much that needs to be said aloud. 

Han pushes up onto an elbow, digging a hand into her ass as she rocks against him, her eyes squeezed shut. The little bottle of lubricant hits the floor with a plastic thunk. He comes inside her, features twisted with pleasure-grief, but keeps move, keeps stroking, until she gives a little gasp of relief, body clenching around him. 

They lay there a long moment, catching their breath, before Han groans, letting her roll off onto the sliver of bed beside him and flings an arm over her. For someone who’s spent most of his life in the freezing depths of space, his skin’s always blazed beside hers. He’s kept her warm more nights than she could possibly remember, far more so than the threadbare army issue blanket she’s been shivering under the last month.

Resting her head back against his shoulder, she makes a small noise of content, foot stroking up his calf. “You’re warm,” she mumbles unnecessarily, curling her hand under his even as he’s pulling away.

She’s awake then, eyes narrowing. “Really, Han? You can’t even-”

He arches an eyebrow at her as he shucks off his socks and pulls the blanket up over both of them. It took him at least a decade to learn only one of them could be reactionary at the same time or else they’d never have sex. Or, you know, get along, or whatever.

Leia presses her lips together, a sheepish glint in her eye all the apology he’s likely to get. They don’t acknowledge it, just nestle back down together under the covers. They’ve got a few minutes before someone’s frantically tracking down General Organa. She doesn’t know how long he’ll stay but she knows she’ll be the one left on the ground, watching the blue lights of the  _ Falcon  _ disappear into the clouds.

She just hopes it won’t be the last time they have to say goodbye.


End file.
